Guardian of Honor

“Someone died during the Summoning?” Bastien blinked.

“Not exactly.” Mace stared at Bastien. “Defau Disparu let his passions get the best of him while he was in a fight.”

Bastien knew the sentence was directed as a reminder to him.

“Disparu attacked the Exotique.”

Urvey gasped. “Attacked our savior!”

Mace ran an eye up and down the boy. “That’s right. He died. She has much Power, that one.”

An atonal chant drifted from a low Tower window. Mace shifted his feet, looked up. “Swordmarshall Albertus and his wife and Shield used the jerir. She was weak to begin with, but she insisted on accompanying her Sword. She barely lives. If she can survive the shock of the next few hours, her health will be much improved. She’s a wily Shield, we’d hate to lose her.”

“Two Pair,” Bastien murmured. From only six Marshall Pairs, it was a cause for concern—for them. “You wouldn’t be at such a pass if you’d opened your ranks much earlier, as the Chevaliers advised. Too many of you wanted to keep your status and Power to a small group.” Bastien jutted his chin.

Mace eyed him, but said nothing in defense. He shrugged. “That’s past. No reason to ask why you are here. It’s my watch to verify any who wish to use the pool of protection. Not that anyone has taken us up on our offer.”

“I’m here!” Urvey said.

“So you are, boy. You want to dunk?”

“Yes, My Lord Marshall.”

“Luthan’s meeting with town guild members tonight. Tomorrow you should have some Chevaliers and townies,” Bastien said.

“Good,” Mace said. He cast a glance at Bastien then one at the window streaming yellow light where the chant was coming from. “You vouch for this lad, Bastien?”

“I’m his squire!” Urvey announced.

Bastien grimaced but didn’t deny it.

“Huh,” Mace said. “It’s about time you showed a little ambition and responsibility, Bastien.” He nodded shortly. “Good thing you took on a squire. Looks like he’ll need some training—that will be good for the both of you. Staunch lad, to brave the jerir.”

Urvey’s thin chest expanded with the compliment. Bastien knew there’d be no dissuading him from the pool now.

Lifting a lantern, Mace scrutinized Bastien. “Stupid-looking hat.”

“Soul-sucker hide.” Bastien tilted his head so Mace could get a better look.

Mace grunted. “Seems like the soul-sucker laid a couple of tentacles on you, too.” He gazed at Bastien’s scratched hands. “Huh,” he said again, still studying Bastien. “You appear a bit peaked—might want to delay your dipping in the jerir.”

Angling his chin, Bastien said, “No.” He grinned. “A dive and glide, said Luthan.”

“That boy always understates the matter. It’s a hell of a lot more. It’s bad, especially if you have any aches or pains, any wounds or injuries. What’s with you, boy?” Mace narrowed his eyes at Urvey. “You fit?”

“I have a coupla scratches. A flea bite or two. Maybe a bruise from a horse that butted me day before last.”

“You’ll do,” Mace said. He stared at Bastien. “If you have any injuries that aren’t showing, you better not try the pool of protection. Wait a day or two. I’d hate to haul you up to that sickroom too.” He waved to the Tower window.

Bastien winced inwardly, thinking of the puncture, the rips, the sucker rounds…Ignoring the pain, he shrugged and grinned, tilted his hat to an even more rakish angle. “I can do it.”

“You always had more mettle than sense. Your squire will watch out for you. Boy!” Mace called Urvey’s wandering attention back to them. “You got any questions?”

Urvey gulped. His eyes gleamed. “I heard we get a meal—a feast afterward.”

“That’s right.”

The chant faltered. Mace frowned, then nodded in the direction of the Temple. “I trust you, Bastien. Go take your swim and watch the boy. I need to get back to the healing.”

“Fine,” Bastien said.

With one last nod, Mace hurried up the right path to the Tower. Urvey started after him, until Bastien halted him with a tug on his sleeve.

“To the left for the shortest route to the Temple.”

Urvey grinned but it looked more like the rictus of fear and anticipation than cheer. “A coupla Marshalls were down at the Nom de Nom for a short noonday meal and I saw them. They looked wrung. Musta taken the dip, I guess.”

“Probably.” Bastien recalled the pallor under Luthan’s skin. He set his shoulders. It couldn’t be that bad, could it? A whisper of the healing chant touched the nape of his neck and slithered down his spine like fear. He was pretty battered, but he was in fine health, strong, and had more stamina than was apparent. And he was a black-and-white; he had wild magic too. Usually under control.

Their boot-steps echoed hollowly before and behind them as they strode along the cobblestone path close to the buildings, passing the nobles lodgings and walking around the bulge of the Temple.

Urvey shivered. “I’ve never been up here in Temple Ward.”

Bastien grunted.

The boy craned his neck, trying to see everything. “It’s wonderful.”

“It’s a Castle bailey,” Bastien said, but the large, round Temple, white stone instead of gray, loomed before them. He looked at it with new eyes—the building did seem to pulse with magic.

Finally they reached the great, pointed oaken door and Bastien swung it open. “After you,” he said.

In an alcove separated from the main Temple by a carved wooden screen, Bastien and Urvey bathed. The usual cleansing pool was the one now filled with jerir.

Urvey wrapped a towel around boney hips as Bastien donned a robe. He’d convinced Urvey to dip first. Bastien wanted to have all his current strength to pull the youth from the pool, if necessary.

Without his baggy garments, the teen was even skinnier. Bastien surveyed him, noting a few minor scratches and the bruise the boy had spoken of. Urvey flushed a little.

“Just seeing how badly you might be hurt,” Bastien said.

A quick grin flashed from the boy. He straightened. “I’m well enough.”

“Looks like you could use the feast they promised us, though,” Bastien said.

Urvey’s grin widened. “I can always eat.”

Bastien believed that.

They walked from the seat-ledge that held their clothes, to the pool. Bastien kept to deep shadows so Urvey couldn’t see the extent of his wounds.